Drawn Into the Light
by Jo Z. Pierce
Summary: Ralph, Bill and Pam are drawn into a search to find out what happened to two other people who were given a suit almost 15 years earlier. Book Two, In the Light series
1. The Report

(Author's Note: Story takes place, mid-series, well after Ralph and Bill meet Beck, the former wearer of a suit much like theirs. Thanks to TigreMalabarista and kosmic.child for beta'ing. Any errors are strictly my own.)

Rated M for violence. Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16. Contains possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for tGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and make no profit from their use._

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Chapter 1. The Report.

Looking up from his desk, special education teacher Ralph Hinkley raised his eyebrows and shook his head at his class. Hoping the whole semester was not a waste of everyone's time, he repeated his question.

"Does everybody... no, does _anybody_ have their book report ready?"

Aside from the restless rustle of students shifting uncomfortably in their chairs, the room was silent. One student rolled some papers into a trumpet, and began to blow _Taps_. A few others slapped thin reports on their desks in protest, more than in compliance.

Ralph always hoped that he could somehow get through to his special ed class at Whitney High School. But today, that seemed like a remote dream. Finally, after a few awkward moments, one student raised her hand.

"Yes Rhonda. What is it?"

"Well, Mr. H, it's like this." The pretty blonde was sincere as she spoke. "A lot of us didn't really understand the assignment, ya know?"

Ralph shook his head once again, this time while running his fingers through his blond curls. The teacher got up from his seat, walked in front of his desk, and leaned against it. The desk might physically hold him up for a few more moments, but in the long run, Ralph was afraid that a mere desk would not keep himself from collapsing. It was clear that he was emotionally demoralized and physically exhausted.

"The assignment, Rhonda, was to write a book report. A summary. A review. A synopsis." Ralph's voice was speeding up, in obvious annoyance. "You read the book, then you tell me about it!" Checking himself, he continued. "The only thing I ask is that you choose a science fiction or fantasy book."

Seated way in the back row, Tony Villacana smiled. "Yeah, I found some stories like that..." Not wanting to get his hopes up too high, Ralph barely looked at the student in the leather jacket seated in the back of the room.

"Yeah, Tony, what book is that?"

The dark haired teen was smiling. In Ralph's opinion, he was smiling just a little too much. Annoyed, he looked up at the teenager, and met his dark eyes with his own. This was an academic game of chicken, one that this pair played over and over again.

"Yeah, Mr. H!" Tony began with a devilish smile, as he glanced back and forth at his fellow classmates. "It's a magazine all about fantasy. It's called Playboy." The class erupted in a chorus of loud laughter. Egged on by his peers, the cocky teen smiled, then nodded his head up and down, just slightly, in an attempt to act cool.

"Aw, come on, Tony, you know what I wanted!" In anger, Ralph turned his back to his students. Throwing his arms up into the air, Ralph began to list some options. "Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings"! H.G. Well's "Time Machine!" or even Adams' "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"!

" Tony, You knew what I meant! There was no reason for that."

"Whaa?" Tony asked, feigning innocence.

Ralph quickly looked up at Tony, and shook his head. He simply was not getting through. This class was out of control. After a stern glare, Ralph pointed at Tony, and calmly said just one letter. "F."

Before Tony could respond, Ralph turned and approached another student.

"Cyler."

"Look, Mr. H. Before you say anything," Cyler pleaded, "I gotta say something first." Honest and bright, he looked up at his teacher. "Like Rhonda said, maybe I didn't really understand the assignment. I don't know if you're gonna like the book I chose."

"Where's your report, Cyler?" Ralph asked, rubbing his forehead with his right hand.

"I didn't get a chance to write it, man," Cyler responded. "But I picked out a book!" Cyler pointed to a large black book that was sitting on his desk. "I'm gonna read it, Mr. H. I really am! As long as you say it's a good book and all."

Estimating the book was about 500 pages long, Ralph was incredulous. He quickly grabbed the book and read the front cover. In surprise, he turned his eyes and looked briefly at his student. He hoped his surprise was not given away by the look on his face. He slowly opened the book and turned to the introduction. Reading to himself, he skimmed through the first few paragraphs, growing increasingly uncomfortable the more he read. He wasn't familiar with the book's title, but the topic was one that Ralph had become an expert on over the past year.

"Let me borrow it for a couple of days," Ralph said casually, as he tucked the book underneath his left arm. He was a little too calm, apparently overcompensating for something. "I'll read it, and see if it fits within the scope of the assignment."

"Sure, Mr. H." Cyler responded as the bell rang, signaling the change of classes. "It's from the library, you know, so I'll have to get it back to them real soon."

"After you read it, you mean. Right?"

Throwing his pack over his shoulder, Cyler nodded his head. He was visibly annoyed at Ralph's lack of confidence in him. "Yeah, Mr. H. After I read it!"

As the class poured out of the classroom, Ralph gathered up the small collection of reports left on his desk. Then checking over his shoulder to make sure everyone left the room, Ralph pulled out the hard covered book. Holding it tightly in his hand, he read the title over and over again.

"Drawn Into the Light: The Fact and Fantasy of Alien Abductions."

– continued –


	2. The Big Black Book

Chapter 2. The Big Black Book.

Leaning against his desk, Ralph skimmed through the thick book he had borrowed from his student. He almost didn't notice the tall man in a black suit peeking his head into his classroom.

"Hello! Ralph! Are you coming?" the tall man asked. "I only have a few more minutes left on my lunch break!"

Ralph barely looked up. His friend and partner, FBI Special Agent William Maxwell, was standing in the doorway. "What is it now, Bill?" he asked wearily.

"Oh!" Maxwell responded, in an oddly lyrical voice that contained more than a hint of sarcasm. "And I though that I was supposed to be the one... with the charm school diploma!"

Shaking his head free of the thoughts he was enveloped in, Ralph slammed the book shut and stuffed it back under his arm. Grabbing a disorderly pile of notes and papers in his hands, Ralph headed towards the door. Joining his partner, the two walked out of the doorway and made their way across campus.

"What's on your mind, Bill?"

"Nothing, Ralph. I'm just here to shake some of your students down for their milk money!" Bill shot an annoyed glance over to his younger partner. "Did you forget, kid? I need some vibes off of that shirt we picked up at the..."

Just then, as if a light bulb suddenly went on, the agent stopped dead in his tracks and looked at his young partner. "Kid, um, what's that big black book you've got there?"

With a slightly worried smile on his face, Ralph reopened the book, keeping track of his place with one finger. "Bill," he began, "this is it." He slapped the book with his hand. "This, my dear partner, is a book - an encyclopedia if you will - of alien abductions." He looked up at his partner, raised an eyebrow, and smiled.

"Ralph! Will you keep your voice down?" Bill looked at his young partner nervously, squinted his eyes, and made the universal "quiet" signal by raising a finger up to his pursed lips. This wasn't what he wanted to talk about with his partner during his lunch break. Certainly, this was not the kind of conversation he wanted to have in public.

"Will you just listen for a moment, Bill!" Lowering his voice, the younger man began to read from the book's pages. "This is what we have been looking for."

"What are you talking about, Ralph." Bill's expression was honestly confused. "I have been looking for some drug runners, out of Reno. I don't know what you've been looking for, but it can't be this!"

"Listen up, Bill. Here's an example. Betty and Barney Hill. New Hampshire. Abducted 1961. While traveling home, the couple was abducted. Although the couple had no recollection of the encounter, they lost 2 hours between their departure and arrival."

"Yeah, and I lost 2 hours watching the game last week," Maxwell added, skeptically, "along with 40 bucks. So what!" He checked his watch, rolled his eyes and sighed, clearly annoyed that his lunch break was almost over and his time was wasting away.

"Bill, come on." Ralph continued. "This is serious. Months later, while under hypnosis they recalled their abduction. Their car mysteriously stalled while driving on an isolated road. Sound familiar, Bill? Then the lights, the aliens..."

Bill chuckled nervously. Ralph continued. "They were approached by an alien space craft. They were brought onboard, were probed, examined, and studied. Finally, their memory of the event was wiped completely clean. Almost."

The agent looked around him, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken thus far."Yeah, so what? Ralph!" Maxwell fidgeted, as he straightened out his vest, coat, tie, and cuffs. Tough as nails, the agent still had a hard time coming to grips with their own encounters with the alien space ship in Palmdale.

"Bill, there are hundreds of these case studies written up in this book. Maybe thousands! And not just abductions. Sightings, the mythology, and the government's response." With that, Maxwell shot a harsh look at his partner.

"Government response?" Bill asked, drawing out each syllable slowly. Backing off, Ralph decided to take another approach.

"Bill, do you honestly think that we are the only ones ever to, well, you know... be contacted?"

"Well, of course not Ralph," Bill whispered, assured that they were out of voice range. "We know that, already. There was Jim Beck, for one. He had a suit, before us, remember? And who knows. Maybe there were some others. What's your point?"

"That's exactly my point, Bill." Ralph smiled, hoping he could teach at least one person something that day. "Maybe there were some others."

Bill stopped in his tracks, and pointed at the book the teacher held in his hands.

"Ralph, what your book there is saying..., well, is nuts!" Bill chuckled, nervously. "If even a fraction of those accounts are true," Bill continued "we're talking hundreds, no thousands of people coming into contact with little green guys! I mean, come on! That's MAJOR intergalactic phone bills here, Ralph! Not to mention the problems of keeping all this quiet. You know, out of the mainstream."

"Well, obviously it's not all that quiet. Look, I've got one book that tells all about it. Right here in my hands!" Ralph turned through some pages, and quickly looked up from a new page he found interesting. Although Bill was obviously uncomfortable with the entire topic of conversation, Ralph was unable to resist teasing his friend.

With a slightly mischievous look on his face, Ralph pointed at the new, black three pieced suit.

"You know, Bill, I never noticed you wearing that suit before... is it new?"

"Yeah, Carlisle and his damn dress code. It's costing me a fortune in clothes!"

"Tell me about it" Ralph added, thinking of the dozens of sports jackets lost in the back alleys and dumpsters of Los Angeles over the past year. The younger man continued flipping through the book, then stopped at an illustration of two tall, thin men, dressed all in black, with eyes shielded by dark sunglasses.

"Hey, Look here, Bill," Ralph said, pointing at the picture. "Men in Black."

Huh?" Bill asked, only half listening to his friend. Even though Bill grudgingly acknowledged the existence of aliens, he also knew that Ralph was more likely to buy into things that were outside the margins, or even extraordinary. And ever since Ralph tried to drag him into a search for missing sea monsters, Bill was really cautious of any of Ralph's explanations.

"It's right here, Bill. Men in Black are aliens living on earth. Their goal is to harass or threaten UFO witnesses into silence." Reading from the book, Ralph's tone changed, as he tried to be very serious about the whole matter. "Dressed in black suits and dark sunglasses, they pose as government agents. The arrive at the home of witnesses to alien sightings. Their goal is to destroy evidence of UFOs. They flash convincing looking badges, and claim to be investigating UFO sightings for the government. Unsuspecting witnesses hand over photos and all other types of evidence."

With a confused look on his face, the tall agent raised his eyebrows, glanced at his partner, and grabbed the book. "Lemme see that!"

"Um, Bill, could I see your badge again... up close..."

Once again made the butt of the joke, Bill shot an angry look at Ralph. "Very funny, kid. Well, it seems I have wasted another perfectly good lunch break here, talking with you about fairies and gobblins and the tooth fairy! Maybe later you could help old uncle Bill with this case, ok? You remember the one... here on Earth!"

"Bill, you're probably right." Ralph sighed. "Most of this stuff is probably, well, more fantasy than reality."

– continued –


	3. The Phone Call

Chapter 3. The Phone Call.

It was a few minutes past midnight when the phone rang. With the unexpected shot of adrenaline rushing through him, Bill was jolted from his sleep and quickly sprang from his bed as he grabbed the phone. Although it was late for him to be getting calls at home, the agent usually slept lightly; he was always ready to field an important tip or new clue about his cases.

"Yeah," he answered. "Bill Maxwell."

"Bill. I'm sorry it's so late." Ralph's voice was obviously excited, but cautious.

"What is it, kid? Did you get a late night vibe?"

"Bill, this probably could have waited until the morning, but..." Hearing Maxwell's sigh on the other end of the phone, he knew he should have waited. His excitement about his latest discovery, however, overpowered him. He just had to share it with his partner.

"Bill. It's about this book. The one I was reading this afternoon."

"Geeze...you called me for that? Goodbye, Ralph! Call me sometime next year. In December!"

"Bill, you won't believe it. It's right here. Right here on page 204."

"What, kid," Maxwell groaned, exhausted, and tired of playing 20 questions. "What's on page 204..." Ralph could actually hear Bill's eyes rolling in their sockets, even over the telephone.

"Another sighting, Bill." Ralph said. "In a corn field in Missouri. Way back in 1968. And the way they describe it, Bill, it sounds just like them. Just like our little green guys."

– continued –


	4. A Butterfly, Poorly Drawn

Chapter 4. A Butterfly, Poorly Drawn

Bill arrived at Ralph's house at 6 am the next morning. He parked the car at a strange angle in the driveway, crushing a sliver of turf on Ralph's lush green lawn. As he walked away, he noticed the bad parking job. Annoyed, and in haste, he waved his hand at the car, as if to shoo it away.

"Ralph! Are you up?" Bill called into the house, as he pounded urgently at the front door. "Ralph?" His partner answered the door quickly, hoping his neighbors would not be awakened by his friend so early on a Friday morning.

"Bill, sorry about the call last night. I wanted to catch you before you went to work." Ralph was still in his jammies, although this particular pair was made of thin flannel, and was white with thin blue pin stripes. "I've gotta get ready for school in about an hour, but I thought you should see this."

"Coffee."

"What?"

"Coffee," Bill grunted once more. "Where's the joe, Ralph? It's 6am, and here I am, up! And without a fishing pole in my hand! There'd better be some coffee ready."

"Ok, I'll start a pot." Ralph called out from the kitchen "Pick up the book and take a look at page 204."

Bill sat down on the couch. Blinking his eyes wide, still trying to wake up, he started to flip through the volume Ralph had left on the coffee table.

"It starts half way down the page..." Ralph called out from the kitchen. "You see it?"

Bill skimmed through the book; he was shocked by the long lists of place names and dates. It really was an encyclopedia, with thousands of short entries, briefly summarizing each alien encounter and UFO sighting. As he skimmed through the pages, the agent slowly raised his left hand to try to hide his gaping mouth. His wide eyes and raised eyebrows, however, made it clear that he was in shock. Finally, he turned to page 204. With a nervous cough Bill simply replied "Yeah, I see it kid."

The entry was marked by a check in the page's margin, written lightly in pencil. No doubt it was Ralph's check mark. But Bill certainly didn't need anyone to point out this entry to him.

"You see that, Bill?" Ralph came rushing into the living room. He leaned over the couch until he could reach the open book. With one finger, he pointed at a black and white sketch drawing near the bottom of the page. He tapped it hard, for emphasis, as if he was trying to poke a hole through the pages, or to force it awake. "Do you see that?" the younger man repeated to his partner.

"It's hard to miss it there, kid." Bill looked up at Ralph, in annoyance, shock and amazement.

The two looked back down at the sketch. To most people, the symbol would have seemed innocuous. It looked surprisingly like a butterfly, sketched by a young child in grade school. Or perhaps one could see in it a rounded, stylized tomahawk, hafted on a handle. The sketch, uninspired and sloppy, was executed by an amateur's hand. But the two men recognized it immediately.

"That's the symbol on the suit. That's _my_ emblem," Ralph said, in a surprisingly calm manner. He placed his hand over the image on the page, as if protecting it, or caressing it.

"Sure is, Ralph," Bill said, as he lifted Ralph's hand from the page. "But it might be clearer if I had a cuppa coffee." With a smile, Ralph patted Bill's back as he pushed off from the couch and went back into the kitchen.

As Bill Maxwell sipped his black coffee, he read the entry a second time. Ralph, once again perched on the back of the couch, read over his shoulder. The book was organized with state by state listings of alien encounters and reports of sightings. This page was one of a dozen or so dedicated to sightings in Missouri. Bill adjusted his glasses and squinted his eyes, as he tried to read the small type used to cram so many entries into the single volume.

_**Texas Bend, Missouri, April 17, 1968**_

_While driving back home to Sikeston, Charles McDonald picked up a hitchhiker several miles outside of Texas Bend, Missouri. McDonald's car stalled on an isolated country road, next to a corn field. There was no apparent cause to explain the mechanical failure. Two rotating balls of light appeared, and hovered erratically in front of the car. After a few moments, they retreated, only to be replaced by a large, disc shaped hovering craft. The radio turned on, of its own will, and transmitted a message to the car's occupants. A bright beam of light was emitted from the underside of the craft, and a small black box was transported down to the surface. The couple was told that the box contained a space suit which gave its wearer unearthly powers. Identifying features of the suit include a cape, and a symbol on the chest (see Figure, right, sketch by C. McDonald.)_

Bill and Ralph looked at each other, in agreement. This was almost exactly what had happened to the pair less than two years ago in Palmdale. The clincher, however, was the sketch of their symbol, printed on the page.

Bill pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and then with a deep exhale, began to laugh excitedly. Ralph joined in.

"This is it, Bill!" Ralph started to nudge his partner in the arm. "This is our chance! Maybe this, this, this Charles McDonald has a copy of the instruction book! Maybe he can help us, with... um, with..." As Ralph's mind was racing, his thoughts scattered.

"Running scenarios?" Bill was excited, but as usual, a bit skeptical.

Bill closed the book to inspect the cover again, then stood up. As he handed the book to Ralph, he took out a small note pad from his coat pocket, and pulled out a pen clipped from his vest. Jotting down a few names, Bill headed for the door.

"Right, here's the scenario. I'll run this McDonald guy through the computers down at the bureau... see what it spits up." Bill glanced down at his notes, and continued. "I'll also run the author of the book... uh, Martin Fields, through the system and see if we can track him down, too. Either way, we'll find these guys. I'll call you tonight."

Bill Maxwell knew he had a new and unusual case to solve, and this one was personal. He left the house, intent on getting to the bottom of this. Bill's car screeched out of the driveway, taking out more sod and several flower beds. Ralph stood triumphantly in his flannel pyjamas, arms protectively folded in front of his chest around the big black book. As he heard Bill's car bottom out on the front sidewalk, Ralph began to dance an exaggerated waltz.

Playfully moving through the beams of morning light that streamed into his living room, his grin stretched out into an impossibly wide smile.


	5. Lost in Fantasy

Chapter 5. Lost in Fantasy

Ralph Hinkley couldn't concentrate at all on his teaching. The class could sense Ralph's lack of focus, and as a result, the room was jumpy. Any hopes of finishing the lesson were long since abandoned. All Ralph Hinkley could think about was the possibility of finding Charles McDonald.

Ralph's personal and professional life had been turned upside down ever since he was given the suit. He often felt alone in the world, and deep down, he longed to share his feelings with another person. But who could truly understand? Although Bill was his partner, and was with him in the desert that night, Bill never quite understood what a burden the suit sometimes felt like. In fact, Bill would have been happier wearing the suit himself, playing the role of Super Agent. Bill could never understand how Ralph saw the suit as his personal albatross, strapped tightly around his neck.

Ralph's fiancé, Pam Davidson, sometimes resented the suit, even though she understood it's importance, and why Ralph had been given it. But even then, it was difficult to fully share his feelings with her.

While his mind raced, Ralph also thought a lot about J.J. Beck. Until yesterday, Ralph no real proof that anyone other than Beck had ever worn a suit like his. Beck was the closest that Ralph had ever had to a real confidant. But the conversations Ralph had with Beck were strained, even painful. Ralph did not, deep down inside, really like Beck. He certainly did not trust him. After all, the little green guys had ultimately taken Beck's suit away from him, after he used it to satisfy for his own desires, lust, and greed.

This is what intrigued Ralph so much about Charles McDonald. There was the real possibility that he could meet someone who had -just like him- used the suit the way it was meant to be used. He wondered what kinds of adventures McDonald might have gone through, and whether that hitchhiker had become his partner. The possibilities were endless.

"Mr. H?" Cyler repeated, raising his hand. "Mr. H?" The boy had been trying to get the attention of his teacher for some time. Cyler, as well as the rest of the class were surprised to find the teacher fantasizing while staring out the window. Ralph had been completely lost in a daydream. Shaking his head, Ralph pulled himself together.

"Oh, sorry Cyler. What is it?"

"Well, that's what we wanna know! Come on, there's something up with you Mr. H!" The rest of the room chimed in, in agreement. "You're always there when we need you, so how bout you lay this one on us?"

Ralph contemplated the offer. Of course he couldn't share the details, but he figured this could be a way to bridge the gap that often appeared between him and some of his students.

"Well, I seem to have a little problem. It seems that I have just, um, relocated a long lost relative. My uncle Charlie. I never met him, you know. I was thinking that he will probably have lots of stories about my parents, my family, that I have never heard."

Ralph scratched his head, trying to explain his feelings without giving too much away.

"While it's all very exciting, I wonder if there are things that I just don't want to know about the family. It's strange, you know? I want to meet him more than anything in the world, but part of me is really nervous about what I might find."

Sitting in the front row, Rhonda nodded in agreement. "You know, Mr. H, that's like when I found out about my father. I didn't want to ever meet him, you know after I found out what he did to my mother. I know how you feel." It was clear that she also had details about her family that she was not completely willing to share.

Ralph looked down, and put his hand on Rhonda's shoulder. "You're mom's a strong woman, Rhonda, and so are you. You'll both get through it, whatever it is."

Standing in the front of the class, Ralph looked around and shook his head. Somehow, they did understand. There were some human universals after all, even in the most extraordinary situations.

"Well, that's probably enough about that," Ralph stated, while taking in a deep breath. Regaining his composure, Ralph returned to his lesson plan. Only a few minutes remained before the bell rang, and students scattered in a Friday afternoon frenzy.

As everyone was leaving the room, Cyler approached Ralph, and inquired about his book. "You never told me, is it ok to use it for the report, Mr. H?"

Ralph didn't really know what to say. He had forgotten that the big black book was in fact Cyler's library book, and that it would have to go back to him eventually. Ralph wanted to hold onto the book, however, until the end of the weekend. At the very least.

"Um, Cyler, I don't think this book is really appropriate. It's not a science fiction or fantasy book. It's more of an encyclopedia, of people's, um..."

"Delusions?" Cyler was clever, and very street wise. His interest in the book, however, was genuine, and the look on his face when Ralph told him it was inappropriate was one of honest disappointment. "Look, Mr. H, I already started reading the book, and I would really like to use it for my report."

"But Cyler..."

"Look, Mr. H., listen up. Tony, Paco and Rhonda thought I was crazy picking this book. It's too long, they said and everything. But it seemed interesting, and it was the best fantasy book I could find." Cyler turned to find a chair, and sat back down. "Look Mr. H, I gotta level with you. I gotta write this paper, and it's gotta be about this book."

Ralph was a little surprised. "Why is that?"

Cyler laughed a little, shaking his head. "Growing up like I did you spend a lot of time dreaming about ways to get out. Then, when you grow up a little, it seems like nothing will change, like there really is no way out, you know? You're stuck in the same place for the rest of your life. No one cares about you." Cyler paused. Ralph was convinced it was for dramatic emphasis. He was impressed by Cyler's argument.

"Look," Cyler continued "the way I see it, that's what this book is about. Fantasy. Escape. Getting out. Having someone there to help you. Man, I understand where these people are coming from! The way I see it, they're not crazy. They are just dreaming a little. These aliens are like, well, like a fantasy. They think these space people can take them away from it all. They need to have someone watching over them, and giving them a shot at something else. It's their only shot at something new, something better." Cyler paused one last time, as he looked straight at his teacher.

"Having someone looking out for me, and giving me a way out? Well, that kind of fantasy would be pretty nice."

Ralph looked at his student, sympathetically. "Cyler, you know that's not a fantasy at all. I'm looking out for you."

Cyler leaned back in his chair, and challenged his teacher. "Oh yeah? Then why won't you give me a break. Let me do this report, Mr. H.. I wanna do my book report, on that book!"

Ralph sat leaning against his desk. He was speechless, and truly proud of his student for thinking this all through. Without saying a word, he reached into his bag and pulled out the big black book, and handed it back to Cyler.

Ralph and his student walked out of the room. Tony, Rhonda, and Paco were all waiting for Cyler, just as Bill Maxwell was waiting for Ralph in the parking lot. They all walked together in silence.

Tony Villacana broke the silence as he came up against Bill Maxwell. "Well whad'ya know." Tony began, as Bill approached the group. "It's Agent Maxwell!"

"And looky what we got here, girls. It's old Tony Baloney, pride of the Villacana family tree."

In a maneuver known throughout Whitney High as the Villacana Advantage, Tony quickly moved in towards Bill in what could best be described as a series of controlled and subtle bounces. "Hey, I hear the pizza joint round the block is offering a "Maxwell Special" these days. Pizza with pepperoni, hold the meat!"

With a smile formed out of sarcasm, Bill responded. "And I hear you're looking to move up in the world. By all means, lemme give you... a letter of recommendation! In no time, you'll go straight from stealing hubcaps, right up to making license plates!"

Ralph positioned himself between the two. "Are you two done?" He looked back and forth as the two stood posturing. He moved out of the way only when he was convinced that they were through.

"Ok, guys," Ralph said, patting Paco on the back, "get outta here. Have a good weekend! Oh, and remember your reports are due..." With a sigh, Ralph added the simple word "again" to that last reminder.

As Rhonda walked away, she turned back to face Ralph, as she called out "Good luck with your uncle, Mr. H!"

Ralph smiled as Bill looked at him, confused. Ralph dismissed the whole thing with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head.

When the last student was out of earshot, Ralph turned to Bill and pulled him towards his station wagon.

"So, Bill, what did you find out, today? Anything? I thought you were gonna call me tonight."

"Well, Ralph, I didn't wanna wait." Bill's smile, brought on by his brief altercation with Villacana, had already worn off.

Ralph was excited, until he noticed Bill's very serious look.

"Ralph, I've got some bad news, and I've got some worse news."

"About McDonald? What's wrong?" Ralph was intensely concerned about this man that he had never even met. In fact, Ralph felt as though he had already taken in McDonald as a member of his family.

"Well, kid, first let's talk about this book. Where is it?"

Ralph looked at Bill, and flatly stated "I don't have it."

Bill's eyes opened wide, as he stared at his partner. "What! First you loose the instruction book, now you loose..."

"Bill, I didn't loose it." Ralph tried to calm Bill down. "I just gave it back to Cyler."

Bill did a double take, then muttered something largely incomprehensible about bleeding heart liberals under his breath.

"Well, Bill, come on, we don't need it. You took down the info. So what's the problem? What did you find out?"

"Remember our friend, Mr. Fields. Martin Fields? The author?" Bill asked.

"Yes, Bill, I remember. What about him? Did you find him?"

"Oh, sure! Couldn't loose him! Even if I tried!" Bill was visibly annoyed. This scenario was turning out to be nothing but dead ends. Maxwell stood up straight, and tried to remain professional. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Mr. Fields is currently spending his spare time as an art critic, for the state. Mainly interpretations of black on white."

"What are you saying, Bill?"

"He's reading ink blots. While lying down. On a long comfy couch, Ralph! He's got a 20 year lease on a furnished apartment filled with rubber furniture. No silverware! White linens and jackets included, all for one low monthly price." Bill's sense of humor, however, couldn't really conceal his own disappointment. "Ralph, he's been put away."

Ralph shook his head, and looked at Bill, as if asking just one question: "why."

"Well, kid, when your life's work involves chasing lights in the sky, and interviewing people about their dates with, eh, little green guys, well, there's a real good chance you're gonna be checking into one of these places, on a permanent basis." Bill was noticeably uncomfortable. The topic was too close to home, for both of them. "He's right up in Napa State. So, for whatever it's worth, we should probably go see him, tomorrow."

Ralph looked at Bill for a few moments, in disbelief. Finally, Ralph asked what he had found out about McDonald.

Bill nervously scratched his nose, and looked around, at nothing in particular.

"Ralph, I don't know how to say it, kid, but... but he's dead."


	6. The Visitors

Chapter 6. The Visitors

"Yeah, boys and girls, it seems old McDonald bought the farm." Maxwell tried to make light of the situation as they pulled into the parking lot of Napa State Psychiatric Hospital. Ralph, seated to his right, was not amused. He turned and gave the agent a disapproving look.

"Bill, you know that's obscene, " Pam remarked from the back seat. She was annoyed, but not shocked.

"Don't get all upset, Counselor. I'm just trying to boost troop morale here."

Ralph shook his head in disgust, and looked down at some notes Bill had jotted down about Charles McDonald. Finally, he looked up and spoke. "I can't believe it, Bill. I just can't. Charles McDonald committed suicide. Just three weeks after he saw...well, you know, saw _them_." Pam reached over the seat and patted Ralph on the back. She knew this was upsetting to Ralph; it was all that he could talk about the night before.

"Bill, are you sure your contact in Saint Louis had it right? Are you sure that this is the right Charles McDonald?" Ralph hoped that this was all just a big misunderstanding.

Bill sighed, and looked at his partner through his dark aviator glasses. "That's him, Ralph. No doubt about it. The dates match up, the town, everything."

"But Bill... suicide?" Ralph sat motionless.

"Ralph, we all know that seeing that... spa..spa..space...shhhip was big league stuff. Come on. You have to admit - not everyone has the stomach to handle that kinda stuff." He looked nervously at his partner. "Not everyone's gonna hold up as well as we did. I mean, even I hit the bottle pretty hard that first night, you know."

"Yeah, I remember, Bill." As Bill turned off the ignition, Ralph sat and stared out the window, quietly.

"Come on, honey," Pam said softly. "It will be ok."

The three climbed out of the tan government issue sedan, and walked into the facilities. The inside the building was different than they had imagined. Clearly the place had the feel of an institution, but not a psychiatric hospital per se. Instead, the atmosphere was reminded them of a retirement home.

All together, the three approached the reception area. Bill flashed his badge at the young woman working behind the desk.

"Morning, darling," he said to the receptionist, as he held up his badge and signed his name in an open visitors log. "Bill Maxwell, F.B.I. I called yesterday and left a message. I need to speak with one of your patients. Martin Fields. Official gubmint business."

The receptionist rustled through some papers, and pulled out a file. "Oh, yes, Mr. Maxwell. I am sorry, but I have special orders from Doctor Jamieson. I'm terribly sorry, but it is not possible to see Martin Fields..."

The agent stared down at the receptionist, confused and annoyed. "Let me make myself perfectly clear! I need to speak with this patient. So I suggest you bring us to him, or I'm gonna start taking down names!"

The receptionist immediately picked up the phone and dialed. Not interested in waiting, Bill barged through two swinging doors and entered a long hallway. She called out after him, but he ignored her protest. Ralph, embarrassed and confused, followed closely behind his partner. Bill stopped at the door of a large common room, which was busy with patients engaged in leisurely morning activities, under the careful watch of their caretakers.

"Bill? Bill! What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna get some answers."

"By busting up a psychiatric ward? Bill!" It was clear that this was upsetting Bill more than he let on. Ralph grabbed his arm and held him back. A small swatch of red fabric was just barely visible underneath his shirt cuffs.

Suddenly, the two men heard scuffling noise and cries of manic fear pouring out of the common room.

"Let's go back and talk this through. I am sure we can reason with them, and nicely convince them that have to see Mr. Fields. These are reasonable professionals." Ralph pleaded with his partner, who grudgingly complied. The two moved away from the open door, just as they caught a glimpse of a patient being restrained inside.

As they walked back into the reception hall, two orderlies rushed down a large mahogany staircase. Not far behind, they were followed by an older man in a white doctor's coat. As the orderlies raced into the common room where Bill and Ralph had just been, the doctor headed for Bill.

"Excuse me, you can't just barge in here and upset my patients!" The doctor was forceful, and deeply concerned. "Is this the agent? Excuse me, but are you carrying any weapons? For everyone's safety, you can't bring firearms into this facility!"

Bill looked at the man and stood his ground, once again reaching into his pocket and pulling out his badge.

"Bill Maxwell, F.B.I. Now if you don't want to spend the rest of next week talking to your lawyer from a cozy downtown cell, you'll take me to Martin Fields. And that means now!"

Ralph dropped his head to his hand as he muttered something below his breath. Pam thought she heard him say "nice going." He was at his wit's end, since everything was falling apart around him, and it seemed like there was nothing he could do about it.

The doctor walked up to Bill, firmly grabbed him by the arm, and escorted the agent towards another hallway. Although the doctor walked quickly, Ralph and Bill followed closely behind.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Maxwell, but Mr. Fields' condition prohibits us from letting you see him. If you had waited to speak to one of us before coming here today, we would have told you that, and you could have saved you your trip."

Bill stopped in his tracks, forcing the doctor to loose his grip, releasing his arm.

"Would you please tell me what's going on here?"

"He suffers from a severe phobia, Mr. Maxwell." The doctor looked at Bill, and scratched his chin. He was unsure how to explain Fields' condition without sounding insane himself.

"Mr. Maxwell, he has a phobia of government employees."


	7. A Nurse's Uniform

Chapter 7. A Nurse's Uniform

Bill stared past Dr. Jamieson; the expression on his face bordered somewhere between confused and totally blank. The agent did not seem to comprehend what the doctor had said. It was, after all, utterly insane.

"Please, Mr. Maxwell, come with me. I will explain." The doctor took Bills arm again, and led him into his office. Ralph and Pam followed. The doctor offered his three guests seats, then leaned against his desk, arms folded across his chest.

"Mr. Fields believes in alien beings. On some level, there's nothing wrong with that. Many sane people believe in extraterrestrial life. But he believes that the government is hiding evidence that alien beings are visiting earth. And, he is totally convinced that the government wants to find out everything that he knows about the subject, then silence him. He truly believes that government agents are after him. Out to get him."

Lifting his hands in the air for emphasis, the doctor began to pace through the room.

"But on top of this, he believes that there are aliens beings who - disguised as government agents - also want to silence him."

"At this point, he is terrified of anyone who even looks remotely like a government employee! He doesn't even know he lives in a state facility. We had to order new china for the dining rooms, so that he wouldn't see the "Property of the State of California" stamped on the bottom of the plates."

Dr. Jamieson chuckled, paused, and then looked straight at Bill, who was beginning to understand the situation.

"So I am sure, Mr. Maxwell, you can understand why I cannot let him see you."

Ralph interrupted, and asked the doctor whether that man in the common room was Mr. Fields. The doctor nodded.

"He must have seen Mr. Maxwell and recognized that he was an government agent."

Pam looked at Bill, and smirked. Even in his civilian clothes, Bill looked like a G-Man. It must be the aviator glasses. She was convinced of it.

Suddenly, as if he had made a great discovery, Ralph looked up at the doctor and simply said "The Men in Black. That's what this is about." Ralph and the doctor both began to nod their heads.

"I see you have done your homework, Mr... Mr... I am sorry, but I didn't get your name."

"Yes, in all the confusion... I am Ralph Hinkley, and this is my fiancé Pamela Davidson. You of course know Bill Maxwell, part time federal agent, part time alien spy."

Unamused, Bill took a deep breath, then broke his silence.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is all very funny. But we've got a dead man in Missouri, and Fields knew him. Enough to include him in his book. So we have to know what he knows." Bill knew he was stretching the truth a bit, by implying a McDonal's death was a murder. Unfortunately, he had no other cards to play.

"We are going to have to have a word with him, one way or the other."

Within the hour, Pamela Davidson found herself wiggling into a white nurse's uniform. It was just a little too tight, cut for someone a few pounds lighter and at least 6 inches shorter than she was. It was, however, the only spare one that the doctor could find, hidden in an old storage locker. As Ralph helped her squeeze into the uniform, zipping up her back, he made no comments about the clothing's fit, and the way it accentuated her attractive figure.

As soon as she was fully clothed, Bill and the doctor came back into the room and approached the couple.

"I am not sure about this, agent Maxwell. This is all highly irregular!" The doctor seemed nervous about the whole thing.

"If you won't let me in to meet with him, Doc, at least Davidson can try to ask him some questions. Right?" Bill looked at Pamela, then quickly turned away, as if he realized he was invading her privacy simply by looking at her outfit.

"Now, remember Counselor, try to ask him what he knows about Charles McDonald. Make up a story. Tell him you just moved here from Missouri, or something like that. Get any information you can. But don't let him think you are here just to find out about McDonald." Bill continued to talk, as Jamieson led Pam out the door, and they walked towards the patient's rooms.

As he walked away, the doctor called back to them. "You will understand, Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Hinkley, that I am going to have to ask you to wait here with these orderlies."

Two young men approached the men. Jamieson called back to them.

"Don't let them out of your sight. We will only be a few minutes. And remember, the agent has a gun."

Bill and Ralph both looked at each other. Ralph's plan was to follow Pam and the doctor into Fields' room, invisible in the suit. This, however, changed everything. This time, Pam was running this scenario.

Carrying some clean linens and a bedpan, she walked into the dimly lit room right behind Dr. Jamieson. Fields lay in his bed, obviously enjoying the calming effects of Valium. With a piece of a charcoal pencil in his hand, he calmly sketched something on a pad of paper.

"Doctor, how can I talk to him while he is in this state?" Pam was a bit nervous, as she whispered her concern to the doctor.

"It's ok, the effects of his medication keep him calm, but he can talk." As he approached the bed, he raised his voice to a normal level.

"Martin! We have a new nurse here today. She will be with us a couple of days, just filling in." He held his hand out to Pam, calling her near. "This is Nurse Davidson."

As Pam approached, the image on Martin's pad became clearer. It was a sketch of Bill Maxwell. He wasn't quite finished, but it was clear that Bill was wearing his dark sunglasses. She looked up at the doctor in surprise, then realized that this was not the first time Martin had tried his hand at facial sketches. As the doctor slowly let more light into the room by opening the shades a few inches, she noticed a gallery of charcoal drawings covering the walls. Above his bed, and along the long dresser wall, Martin had taped up dozens of sketches, each depicting the face of a different man. Most wore sunglasses, and many wore black hats with uninteresting black suits. The sight made Pam shiver.

"Hello, Martin," Pamela said, cautiously. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

Martin continued to look down at his pad and work on his sketch.

The doctor encouraged Pam to sit next to Martin's bed. Pam sat down, and as calmly as she could, asked Martin who the men were who covered her wall.

The doctor did not like the way the conversation was progressing. He approached the bed, and stayed close, to remind Pam that there had to be some boundaries. Pam nodded, and decided to change the subject.

"Well, I will be here a few days, like the doctor said." Pam tried to steer the conversation towards McDonald. "I just moved here. I used to live in Missouri. Have you ever been to Missouri?" She felt uncomfortable lying to the man, but couldn't think of another way to turn the conversation to McDonald.

Martin continued to draw, silently.

"People from Missouri are awfully friendly," she continued. "If you ever get a chance, you should go visit. Have you ever met anyone from Missouri?"

"You're here with him, aren't you?" Martin finally said, in a slow monotone voice. "The agent man, from the hallway. They usually don't send women. It's usually just men. You're the only other woman they ever sent to me."

Pam looked up at Jamieson, surprised. The doctor pointed to a picture in the corner. It was a charcoal drawing, just like the others, except the face was that of a woman. Her hair was straight, ending just below the chin in a slightly upturned curl. Her face was also unique, since it was one of the few depicted without sunglasses. Pam saw desperation in her eyes. Martin had captured that well.

Suddenly, Pam realized that her own image would someday find itself taped up on the wall, in Martin's black and white charcoal gallery.

"Are all these pictures of the men who have been sent for you?" Pam inquired, looking up at the walls covered in papers.

"No. Only some of them came for me." Martin's words were stated as a matter of fact. "Some came for the others. From my book."

Pam was lost for words.

"Martin, I need to know what you know about Charles McDonald. From Sikeston, Missouri. Do you remember him? You wrote about him in your book. We think that you met him. We need to know if he was alone when you met him. We need to know what happened to him, or if you know anything about how he died."

Never looking up at Pam, Martin shook his head slowly, and spoke cautiously. "I never met him. He called me in San Francisco. In 1972. And he told me his story. For my book. He sent me a picture. In a letter."

The doctor placed his hand on Pam's shoulder. It was time to go.

Thanking Martin, Pam turned around to leave the room. She wondered if any of this was useful, or if any of this mattered at all. As a lawyer, she knew that nothing he said would ever be taken at face value. Never in a court of law. A brief encounter with a clinically insane man was not the kind of evidence she would like to use in any of her cases.

As she approached the door, she heard Martin say something, quietly, and to himself.

"Funny. Whenever they want to know about Charles McDonald, they send a woman."


	8. In the Dark

Chapter 8. In the Dark

"Bakersfield's coming up, Bill. You want to stop for coffee, or trade off?"

Ralph's offer was tempting. The headlights from oncoming traffic were blinding, and he was tired from the 4 hour drive. But Bill wanted to stay at the wheel, and keep driving. Concentrating on driving down the dark highway was at least something that he could get his mind around. Everything else seemed to be spiraling out of his control.

The drive back to Los Angeles was taking forever. Pam was curled in the back seat, as she tried unsuccessfully to get some sleep. Bill and Ralph, in front, said almost nothing for the past 2 hours. Both were in heavy thought, going over the long day in their minds. The exceptionally long drive south back to L.A. only added another level of disappointment to the day.

The morning had gone bad in the Napa State Psychiatric Hospital, when they learned that Martin Fields would not be available for questioning. The afternoon went even worse.

After leaving the grounds of the hospital, Ralph doubled back and returned to the hospital in the suit. He was concerned; the possibility of getting a holographic vibe off of an insane person was terrifying. Yet Bill insisted that he could handle it, and Pam assured him that Fields was sedated and calm.

With the help of the suit, Ralph turned invisible, and quietly entered Fields' room. He was shocked to see it for himself, although it was exactly the way that Pam had described it a few minutes earlier. The dozens of charcoal drawings, taped to the wall, made the room look like an eccentric artist's studio. The first sketch he noticed was new; eerily familiar, the drawing was clearly the face of Bill Maxwell, sketched in black and white. As he walked around the bed, Ralph noticed that Martin had already begun another picture. He had only just begun, but the jet black hair and the large eyes were unmistakably Pam's.

Still invisible, he moved quietly passed the bed and approached the black and white gallery of faces. He pressed his hand against a picture on the wall. There was nothing. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get a holograph. He moved his hand to the next picture, but still had no luck.  
Ralph repeated this with several pictures. Each time, there was nothing. Finally, he skipped several and moved straight to the picture of Bill. Immediately, an image of Bill and Pam appeared on the wall in front of him. The two were seated impatiently in a tan sedan several miles outside of the hospital.

"Well, at least the suit is still working" Ralph thought to himself. These other pictures, he began to suspect, were not real people at all.

Finally Ralph noticed the image of a woman on a sketch in the corner. He began to walk closer, to try to get a vibe. As he approached, he noticed his arm was in full view. As he looked down at himself, he realized he was beginning to fade in and out.

Upon seeing image of a blond man in red pyjamas fade in and out of sight, Martin Fields began to scream. It seemed as if he had never been sedated at all. The noise of his panic quickly drew two orderlies in, followed quickly by Dr. Jamieson.

No matter who or what was to blame, Martin Fields would likely spend many years to come highly medicated, trying to figure out what the blond man was doing fading in and out of view in his room. No doubt, we would be convinced that he was somehow connected to alien visitors. Ironically, this time he was right.

Hours later, seated in the car Ralph kept thinking to himself that none of this would have happened if only he was able to control the suit. Bill knew that his partner felt bad about it, but there was nothing he could do to make him feel any better.

"Well, This is just great. This scenario is coming to a complete stop!" Bill wasn't sure what else to say. "What do we have here, boys and girls? One dead guy, and one banana sundae."

Taking in a deep breath, Ralph added that at least they were able to get some information from Pam's meeting with Fields.

Bill was skeptical. "Oh, yeah, and what does that tell us?"

Insulted, Pam sat up in the back seat and added a few key points, as if reading from a list. "That Fields never met McDonald. That their contact was all over the phone. And that at some point, a woman went to Fields to ask him about McDonald."

"Counselor, not even taking in to account the fact that this guy is nuts, this still gives us nothing. The faces on the wall, well, Ralph couldn't even vibe off of them. They probably weren't even real people!" Bill tried to remain calm and cool. "Davidson, we can't trust any of that. Most of that, that junk, is coming completely out of his imagination. We have nothing."

"Bill, maybe you could try to dig out the old files." Ralph added. "You could call up your contact back in St Louis again..."

"You want me to call in favors, for this? You want me to convince someone that the FBI is interested in a suicide, dating all the way back to 1968?"

Pam's ears perked up. "1968? Did you say 1968? Is that when McDonald died?"

Ralph turned and looked at Pam, while Bill peeked at her through his rear view mirror. "Yes, Pam. That's what Bill wrote down..."

Pam was deep in thought. When she finally spoke, her words came out slowly. "Martin said he was contacted by McDonald by the phone... but he specifically said it was 1972."

"Counselor! This guy can't even remember which side of the fork to put in his mouth, let alone what year he got a phone call! Come on!"

"Well, maybe it's worth looking into anyway" Ralph said, defending his fiancé.

"If it's a suicide, it's gonna to be a local case," Bill finally said, very calmly. "I am out of my jurisdiction. What do I tell them, Ralph?"

Ralph replied, although it was obvious he was not completely convinced himself. "Bill, I am sure you can think of something."

End Part I


	9. PART II A Missing Person

**Part II**

Chapter 9. A Missing Person

Bill knocked on the door to Ralph's house. As usual, he didn't wait until Ralph invited him in, especially when he was in a hurry. It had been five days since Ralph suggested to Bill that he should continue looking into the death of Charles McDonald. Finally Bill had some new leads on the case, and was excited to follow them through.

"Come on Ralph! Where's the counselor? Pack your bags, and put on your jammies. We're going to St. Louis! Our plane leaves tonight, in 3 hours."

"Bill, it's a Thursday! We can't just pack up, pick up and go! I have classes tomorrow."

"And I have two cases I am working on!" Pam called out from the kitchen.

"I am sure you can get someone to clean out the cages while you are gone." Bill was referring to Ralph's special ed class, although he was sure the comment could apply to the lawyers Pam worked with, too.

Bill walked over to Ralph and handed him two plane tickets, and forced them into his hand. Truth be told, Bill was not at all interested in what Ralph thought. In _The Book of Life_, written by Bill Maxwell, he wrote the game plan, and the world was obliged to play along. Ralph was always frustrated by this presumption. Still, he was curious about what Bill had learned about McDonald.

"So, what happened? What did you find out?

Bill walked to the kitchen, meeting Pam in the doorway. She immediately handed him a box of dog biscuits, then turned around to pour two cups of herbal tea. Returning to the living room, Bill spoke with his mouth full, as he crunched on pieces of off-brand dog bones.

"I called up the bureau office in St Louis, and then the Sikeston Sheriff's department." Bill looked at the stale bone in his hand, and then at the box. "Where'd you get this stuff?"

Ralph shook his head at his partner's disinterest. "Bill, come on. What did you find out?"

"Well, Ralph, McDonald was a local boy, went off to college, came back a lawyer. Divorces, speeding tickets, get out of jail free cards. That sort of stuff." This statement brought Pam out of the kitchen. Bill turned to her as she handed Ralph his tea. "So, you're in this, Davidson."

"I don't know about this Ralph. If Bill Maxwell starts relying on his third string utility for his cases..." She was half joking, but there was something about this that didn't sit right with her. She paused, then continued. "What else did you find out."

'Well, that's the problem. Nobody's talking! We've gotta get out there, as soon as possible. In the field! Dig this all up for ourselves!" He looked at the box of biscuits again, then put them on the table. "These are awful!"

"Sikeston Sheriff's office sounds like it has a gag order. Completely clammed up. They say they don't want us bringing up bad memories, bothering his old widow with this stuff. Then they said it's an internal affair, out of my jurisdiction." Bill was visibly irritated; he hated being fed bullshit. "And the St. Louis Bureau doesn't have much on this case at all."

The agent looked at the young couple. He recognized their incredulous look.

"Despite popular belief, the gubmint doesn't have a secret file on everybody!" He rolled his eyes. "But they did have a thin file on McDonald. It was closed almost 7 years ago, as a missing person case."

Ralph's disbelief turned to confusion. "Missing person? But Bill, I thought it was a suicide!"

Bill looked his partner, with a glint in his eye; he loved an intricate case, and this was proving to be more difficult than he ever imagined.

"According to the sheriff, McDonald drove his car out to a corn field and shot himself. That's it. End of scenario. They found his car a week later, his blood all over. So the sheriff calls it a suicide."

"Problem is, Ralph, there was never a body."


	10. Life in a Small Town

**Chapter 10. Life in a Small Town**

"Bill, Carlisle let you do this? Take off, without warning?"

"He thinks I'm in Bakersfield, roughing up some drug running punks."

"Bill! You lied to your boss!"

"Well, didn't you?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ralph, Bill, and Pam only had a few hours of sleep in the cheap motel rooms they rented, just outside the airport. Before dawn, Ralph and Pam piled into their rental car and left Bill. With only one business day left, Bill suggested they split up; while he went through the FBI files on Charles McDonald in St. Louis, Ralph and Pam could go ahead to Sikeston. They planned to meet up in Sikeston, sometime for dinner.

It was a long three hour drive from St. Louis to Sikeston, Missouri, south on Interstate 55, and Ralph was heavy in thought the whole trip. He had lost all hopes of ever meeting Charles McDonald a week ago. Why, then, was he on this wild goose chase? What did it matter to him?

Finally, Pamela spoke.

"Ralph, honey, if they never found a body, then maybe he's still alive."

"And living underground for years? No, I don't think so, Pam. I think he was taken up, by..." Ralph said, pointing up at the sky in reference to the aliens who gave him the suit. "But I can't figure it out. If he is up there... well, how did he contact Martin Fields? And what about all that blood in his car?"

"I don't know, hun." Pam replied. "But while Bill is in St Louis, we'll start poking around... Maybe we can find his widow. Maybe see what we can dig up on him. What was the name Bill gave us, again?"

"Frances. Frances McDonald."

As they drove into town, it was almost mid-morning. Stopping at a gas station, they parked their rented car and headed straight for an old phone booth. Pulling up the phone book attached to a chain, Ralph began flipping through the pages.

"There's no Frances McDonald listed, Pam. But there's one F. McDonald listed." He pulled a pen out of his tweed jacket, and began to jot down the information. After asking the gas station attendant for directions, the two piled back into the car. As they drove, the couple agreed that Pam would go on ahead, and meet with Frances McDonald.

"Why don't you drop me off at the public library," Ralph suggested. "I'll see what I can find out. You know, from old papers, public records."

After the library, it was just a short drive to the house. It was a long shot, since Pam didn't even know if this was the right person after all. Perhaps she had remarried? Perhaps her number was unlisted. Nevertheless, this was worth a shot.

"Excuse me, are you Frances McDonald?" Pamela asked, as a woman in her mid-50s answered the door. She nodded, suspiciously. "I was wondering if I could ask a few questions about your husband... Charles."

The woman stared at Pam, holding the door open just far enough to peek through.

"My name is Pamela Davidson. I'm a lawyer."

Pamela handed the woman a business card through the thin opening. The woman inspected it for a moment. Satisfied, she opened the door wide, and let Pam in.

"Well, a lawyer... Just like my Charlie. That's ok then."

Frances showed Pam in, and brought her to the kitchen table. Offering Pam a seat, Frances put the kettle on.

"You have to forgive me, dear. I am sick of all those people who come here, chasing after those flying saucers."

Pam looked at her, wide eyed, and giggled, nervously. "Flying saucers? What do you mean? Like space ships? UFOs?"

Frances sat down at the table, shaking her head, and looked at Pam.

"You'd think I'd been through enough, to have to bother with this nonsense. A few years ago, some crazy nut wrote a book about flying saucers. In that book, he said that my Charlie had seen one! Can you believe that?" Frances sighed, and put her chin in her hands. "Since then, every couple of months I get someone calling, or dropping by, asking about it."

"Every couple of months?" Pam asked.

"First it was just locals, from Missouri, and southern Illinois. Then they started calling from across the country. But I reckoned a nice girl like you wouldn't be here for that silliness!"

Pam smiled politely as Frances offered her some tea. They talked about her trip, Ralph, and other small talk and pleasantries. Finally, Frances asked the question Pam did not want to answer.

"So, what did you want to know about Charlie?"

Pam had thought about several different white lies she could tell. As long as she avoided the subject of aliens, it would be alright.

"Well, I was thinking of moving back to the Midwest. And, my uncle was a lawyer, too. He was in St. Louis, many years ago. He's long gone, but he always told me about how nice this part of the country was. And I'm from a small town myself. And, quite frankly, I'm tired of the big city," Frances nodded, convinced by Pam's story.

"My uncle always talked about a lawyer friend that he had when he was in St. Louis. Your Charlie. He didn't say much about him, but I always remembered his name. Anyway, I thought I'd look him up, ask him about practicing law in this part of the country, while my fiancé and I came down to take a look at the area. Well, we heard that Charlie has passed, but I thought I'd try to talk to you, anyway. If that's ok."

Frances smiled widely. "Well, that's wonderful! I'd be happy to help."

For the next hour hour, Pam and Frances chattered away about life in small town Missouri. They toured her garden beds, ate homemade cookies, and looked through old photo albums. Pam listened to her host ramble on and on about the simple pleasures of her quiet lifestyle, the close knit community of her small town, and the joys of peaceful, easy living.

Finally, Pam decided it was time to ask the question.

"Frances, may I ask how Charlie died?"

"Oh, my dear" she replied, dryly. "He was murdered."


	11. The Federal Case

**Chapter 11. The Federal Case**

"I gotta thank you a lot, boys, for helping me out here!" Bill Maxwell said, as he ruffled through the old file drawers in the basement of the St. Louis Federal Building. Two clerks, in their early to mid-20s, looked over his shoulder.

"No problem, Agent Maxwell," the younger one said. "Anything for the country's top agent!" The second clerk, only a few years older, shook his head and gently pushed his coworker at the shoulder, in disapproval. The two argued non-verbally, behind Bill's back, over whether or not it was proper to make a celebrity out of a visiting agent.

"Um, Agent Maxwell, why not just call this in?" the second agent asked. "We could have sent the information over the wire."

"Lesson number one, fellas!" Bill replied, enjoying the attention. "Never get someone else to run your own field operations." Bill smiled, then rocked his head side to side. "Plus, I was in the neighborhood, anyway, boys! Ha ha! Listen, if you ever need anything from the L.A. office, you just give me a holler! Okay? I'll owe you one. But for now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a looksee at this baby."

Although he enjoyed being a bit of a celebrity, he hoped his young clerk friends would not spread the word that he was here. The last thing he wanted was to run into anyone he knew, or anyone in charge. How could he explain to Carlisle what he was doing in St. Louis? How would he justify being in the St. Louis record room, without anyone's knowledge, or approval? Hoping to fade into the walls for a few minutes, Bill walked over to an unoccupied desk, sat down, and quickly looked through the Charles McDonald file.

The file on McDonald was, thankfully, thin. It was, in fact, just a few pages long. Bill flipped back and forth through the pages.

He was surprised by the lack of information contained in the files. The missing persons report was there, with a small photograph of the middle aged McDonald, wearing thick rimmed glasses, a tidy tweed jacket, and a neat bow tie. A big, red stamp reading "Closed" covered the front page. The file also contained a police report, dating back to May 15, 1968, of a 1963 Chevy Nova with blood stained interiors, abandoned in a corn field. Other than that, there was only a single letter typed on letterhead from the Central Missouri Trust Company, describing three large bank withdrawals, between 1967 and 1968. Each withdrawal was for five thousand dollars - a fortune in those days.

"Well, well, well, Charlie, where did a country lawyer like you get fifteen thousand dollars, huh?" Bill asked himself, as if mocking the dead. "Come on, Charlie, what on earth did you do with the money?"

Finally, Bill found a torn out page from Martin Field's book - the book that started it all. Bill looked at the printed page; it was number 204 - the page Ralph first found mention of McDonald's sighting. McDonald's name was circled in red, as was the word "hitchhiker."

"Again with the hitchhiker," Bill mumbled to himself.

Bill jotted down a few notes on a small notebook he kept in his shirt pocket. Thinking it over, he tapped his pen on the desk, nervously. As he looked over his notes again, he casually called over the clerks.

"Uh, boys, any of you raised on a farm?" Bill asked. "Can either of you tell me when corn is harvested in the southern part of the state?"

"Depends on the year, but no sooner than August, typically."

"That's what I though." Bill said, as he jumped up from his chair, and handed the file back to the clerks. "I'm gonna need another favor of you fellas. I need to know, quickly, if there were any other federal cases in or near Sikeston, Missouri between 1965 and 1970."


	12. The Microfilm

**Chapter 12. The Microfilm**

"Excuse me," Ralph asked quietly, standing at the librarian's desk. "I am trying to find some old copies of the _Standard._ Where can I find them."

"What are you looking for?" The librarian asked, suspicious. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Ralph smiled, then explained that he was just a historian, looking for a new subject for his next project on small town American history. Minimally satisfied, the librarian directed Ralph to the second floor and the microfilm machines.

Ralph scanned the shelves, looking for back issues of the local paper- the _Standard Democrat - _preserved on microfilm. Anything he could find about Charles McDonald could be of use. Ralph began, one by one, to feed the reels through the machine. He slowly scrolled through the articles, wishing the red suit underneath his clothes gave him the power of speed reading. He even tried it once, unsuccessfully, turning the advance knob up to full speed.

In addition to a few mentions in short articles scattered throughout the paper, Ralph was pleased to find McDonald mentioned prominently a few times. On November 4, 1965, a short article on Charles appeared tucked away on page 8. The headline read _Sikeston Son Takes Cape Cons to Court_. The article outlined McDonald's somewhat minor role as a junior lawyer in a case designed to prevent the construction of a highly controversial metal factory along the bank of the Mississippi. The case revolved around zoning laws of the small town called Price Landing, but in the process, the legal team helped expose the company's ties to money laundering operations in Cape Girardeau. Missouri, and Carbondale, Illinois.

Several years later, on May 11, 1967, McDonald made the front page, with the headline _Local Lawyer Halts Construction on Mississippi Riverfront_. Although McDonald's role did not seem to have changed much over the years, Sikeston was proud of his role in the case.

Ralph continued to slowly scan through the papers, but without much luck. Now he realized what Pam must have felt like, as a third string utility backup.

Apparently, McDonald was not as successful as the earlier headlines predicted he would become. Finally, Ralph found McDonald's obituary, dated May 18, 1968.

Ralph mulled over the page, projected on the screen in front of him. It was an abbreviated, unassuming eulogy of a local lawyer who died too early in his career. Yet, there was no memorial service mentioned, and no word of survivors.

It was odd, he thought, that an obituary had been printed at all, considering no body had been recovered. Someone wanted McDonald to be dead, even without the evidence to prove it.


	13. News of the Affair

**Chapter 13. News of the Affair**

Pam sat at the kitchen table as Frances opened the door. She thought that perhaps she shouldn't have said that she would help find out about Charlie's supposed murder. But Frances seemed anxious to find someone to talk with, and share evidence of the case that local authorities dismissed so many years ago.

"Yes, she's still here. She says she's a lawyer."

Frances returned to the kitchen, with another woman, about the same age as Frances. The guest looked at Pam closely, as if trying to recognize her face.

"No, that's not the one."

"Who?" Pam asked, in a concerned voice.

"Pamela, this is my friend Margaret," Frances said, as the two sat at the table. "I thought you'd like to hear what Margaret overheard, the week that Charlie died. We didn't know each other when Charlie was alive, but after she saw his obituary, she came to me, and told me about the other woman."

"Other woman?" Pam asked.

Margaret reached out and held Frances hand. She could tell this was hard on her friend; dredging up memories 15 years old wasn't easy. Although Frances already had heard the story, Margaret leaned in an whispered to Pam as if she was trying to spare Frances' feelings.

"We think Charlie was having some kind of an affair."

"And you think that this other woman may have killed him?"

Frances and Margaret shrugged their shoulders, uncertain, but then cautiously nodded their heads.

"I didn't know Charlie back then." Margaret began. "But I remember the day. I was out at Lambert's, having lunch. That was back when it was on South Main. I was sitting at a table, and Charlie was at the table behind me. And he was with a woman. A young girl. No older than twenty, I'd say. Real pretty, even though she looked like a hippie or something. Dirty."

Margaret looked at Frances, to make sure it was ok to proceed. Frances nodded to her friend.

"Oh, I can't remember everything they said, they were whispering most of it. They sounded like they were thick as thieves, but they sounded real nervous, and they were mad at each other. Real mad. At one point, the girl says '_You can't just walk away. We're in this together_.' Then a week later, they found Charlie's car, out in the fields. Bloody. And no body."

Pam asked if she had gotten a look at the woman. Margaret said she got just a quick look, as she got up and left. She explained how Charlie looked uncomfortable, as if he didn't want anyone to see him there with this woman. He looked guilty. Or nervous. Or both. Tears began to swell up in Frances' eyes.

"Well, that's not all," Frances added. "I found out that Charlie had, well, been hiding things from me. He had a separate bank account, and he had a lot of money in it. I found that out, after he died. And I don't know where he got the money."

"He said he had been working on an important case for years. It was a big case, in all the papers. So it wasn't strange for him to stay out late, or work weekends. I believed him. I never doubted him. Then, a few weeks before he died, he came home real late from a business trip. I remember he drove from Carbondale, Illinois, and it should have taken two hours, tops. But it took him all night. And that's when he started acting really funny. That day, when he came home, he was nervous, hiding things from me."

The two women went quiet for a moment, contemplating what part of the story to tell next. Finally Margaret looked at Frances, and pointed up at the ceiling.

"Did you tell her about... well, you know..." pointing up, Margaret made a whistling sound as she wiggled her finger.

"I mentioned it." Frances turned to Pam, and finally confessed. "Remember that stuff about the flying saucers? From that book? Well, they said Charlie saw a space ship on April 17, 1968."

Pam looked at the two women, her eyes open wide.

"That was the day he came back from the trip. That's when he started acting weird."

Pam's face lit up. "You mean, it really happened?"

"No!" Frances cried out. The two women laughed, and looked at each other. It was a good thing, since Pam's question seemed to break the tension that was building in the room.

"No!" Frances repeated. "Don't be ridiculous! But I reckon that was the story the sherrif used to cover everything up! I mean, just mention flying saucers, and no one is going to seriously look at the case. Land's sake! They can just write Charlie off as crazy, and call it a suicide! And then the whole thing becomes the running joke of Sikeston, Missouri."


	14. Throwed Rolls

Chapter 14. Throwed Rolls

Pam climbed the staircase and found her way into the microfilm room of the Sikeston Public Library. It was almost closing time; she had taken longer than she expected with Frances McDonald and her friend Margaret. Looking around, she couldn't find Ralph. Instead, she heard his muffled voice from behind one of the institutional grey metal shelves. Peeking around the corner, she found Ralph sitting at the end of the row, whispering into a small silver communicator.

"Yes, I'm at the library, Bill... Yes... I did... No... No...! I'll meet you in the parking lot. As soon as I can."

Ralph looked like a child, sitting cross legged on the floor, whispering hushed commands to a secret friend over a walkie talkie. Next thing Pam expected to see was a secret decoder ring or a map of buried treasure.

Ralph looked up, and upon seeing Pam, jumped to his feet.

"Aw, honey, am I glad to see you. It's been one hell of a day!" He approached Pam and gave her a kiss. "Come on. Bill just called, and he's almost here."

Pam helped him gather up his things, including the scattered pieces of paper scribbled with notes. The two walked out of the library, and into the parking lot, where their rented car was waiting. As they climbed into the front seat, Bill pulled in next to them, and parked his car. In what seemed like a single movement, he opened his car door, poured out, and dove into the back seat of the next vehicle, planting himself directly behind Ralph.

Bill greeted the couple. "Alright, kids, Uncle Bill is here! Whatchya got?"

"Well, I didn't find much today in the library. Just a few mentions of McDonald's cases. Pam?"

"Oh, I had a great day with McDonald's widow. Boy did she give me an earful."

"Yeah? Well yours truly dug up a few skeletons, here and there. Out of the closet. Gonna put the old spotlight on a few bozos right here in southern Missouri. So, whaddya say, let's grab some grub, compare notes, and go over the scenario."

It was unclear whether Bill's eyes, obscured behind his dark aviator glasses, were looking at them, or scanning the parking lot. Bill tapped Ralph's seat in front of him.

"Let's go, kid! I'm starving!"

Ralph turned right, then pulled out onto East Malone. He drove slowly as they looked for a place to grab a bite.

As if in slow motion, Ralph's mouth opened wide as they drove past the airport.

"Bill! They have an airport here! I didn't know they had an airport, Bill! Why didn't you tell us... they have an airport! Why didn't we just fly in."

Rolling his eyes, Bill responded. "Ralph, do you know how expensive it is to fly into these small towns! Come on, give me a break."

Ralph and Pam looked at each other, and shook their heads. Finally, Pam spotted something up ahead.

"Ralph, stop up there. Look, it's Lambert's Café. Margaret mentioned that place. Yeah, Lambert's. Let's go there."

"Oh yeah? Who's Margaret." Bill asked, uninterested. "They got burgers?"

Ralph pulled the car into the crowded parking lot, and parked. Climbing out of the car, Bill looked up at the sign of the long, flat roofed restaurant.

"Lambert's Café... Throwed Rolls? What kind of place _is_ this, Counselor?"

Although it was not quite dinnertime, the place was already filling up, as if it were the main attraction in town and the show was about to start. Bill, looking around, straightened his suit jacket and vest. As they entered, he already started to case the place, towering above most people waiting to be seated. After a minute, Bill cleared his throat.

"Uh, Counselor, how bout we go find someplace else?" Bill looked past her, as he continued to scan the room. "It seems _real_ busy here, don't you think? We should find someplace quiet.. nice.. right? Not so many ears..."

Ralph was just about to agree with his partner when Pam hailed a waitress, holding up three fingers.

"Come on, guys!" Pam whispered, angrily. "Margaret said she saw Charles McDonald eating here with a woman the week he... he disappeared."

"Margaret." Bill asked, quite interested all of a sudden. "Who's Margaret?"

"Table for three! Come on back!"

Pulling at Ralph's sleeve, Pam guided him through the waiting room into a big common dining room, with booths and tables. They were seated at a small table near a corner, Bill with his back towards the wall. Bill immediately removed his sunglasses, then took up a menu, anxious to get the whole experience over with.

The room was jumping, as servers moved effortlessly in between the backs of chairs, carrying bowls of food from table to table. People called out to one another, as if the restaurant was filled with distant cousins reunited for a big country wedding feast.

"This isn't exactly the kind of place I had in mind for going over scenarios, kids!" Bill sighed deeply, as he inspected the daily specials.

As he studied the menu, Bill saw something fly through the air, out of the corner of his eyes. His eyes darted up from the menu, and he looked around the room at the waiters and waitresses.

"Did either of you see that?"

Pam and Ralph looked up, and briefly turned around to face the dining room. "See what Bill?" Ralph asked.

A waiter, armed with a large tray, grabbed one of the hot rolls and tossed it across the dining room towards a table near the kitchen.

"That!"

Ralph and Pam turned once again, this time shifting in their seats. A moment later, a volley of rolls were simultaneously hurled at a table filled with blonde haired children. Like kids in little league practice, each expertly caught a roll, as a room full of fans cheered them on.

Ralph began to laugh. "Throwed rolls, Pam! That's what that means! Like on the sign outside! I think it's great! Don't you, Bill?"

Bill squinted at Ralph, and silently moved his lips, exaggerating each syllable. "Th-roooow-ed rolls?" Annoyed, he found no humor in the situation.

Bill growled at Ralph, slowly pronouncing each angry word between tightly gritted teeth. "Let's just get some food, kids, and get the hell out of here!"

Bill raised his arm to call the waitress over to the table. Before he could react, a hot dough projectile - aimed with pin point accuracy - flew across the room, hitting him squarely on the forehead.

Wide eyed, Bill shook his head, as the roll fell into his lap. Without thinking, Bill automatically reached for his holster and grabbed at his gun.

"Bill! No!" Pam and Ralph both screamed, in unison, as they jumped up and reached across the table to restrain the angry agent.

"Don't worry. I wasn't gonna shoot...a lot." Bill had been caught off guard before, but never by flying baked goods. He gained control and picked the roll up from his lap. Studying it for a moment, he shrugged and took an anxious bite.

A waitress, noticing the direct hit and the target's reaction, ran towards their table. "Ya'll have to be careful with the throwed rolls!"

The waitress began to wipe the tiny spot of grease off Bill's forehead; after one stroke, she slowly moved her napkin away. Bill eyes were fixed on Ralph, as he stared him down. Backing away from the table, the waitress cautiously asked Bill if she could get him anything.

"Yeah, darlin! Take out!"

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_Author's note: There are some things in life that are far stranger than fiction. Head's up! Search for Lambert's Cafe on the web!_


	15. The Command Center

**Chapter 15. The Command Center**

"Ok, boys and girls, can we get serious, now?" Bill asked, as he tossed the take out bag in the garbage bin outside the motel reception office.

"Come on, boys and girls. Let's get this scenario up and running! We need a command center here. Come on. My room."

Ralph and Pam were beginning to show signs of fatigue after the long day.

The flight to Saint Louis... The long drive to Sikeston... The research and interviews... The search for a motel room... The flying food.

"Command center, Bill? I was hoping more for 8 hours of Pleasant Dreams."

"Sorry kids, but I can't sleep... not with hot biscuit grease dripping down my brows..." Bill replied, with thick sarcasm. "And if Uncle Bill don't sleep, neither does Superman and Lois Lane..."

Pam looked at the two men in disgust. Grabbing two small bags from the trunk of the car, she motioned to Ralph to follow into Bill's room.

"Ok, let's see what we've got." Bill tossed down an envelope on the bed, then pulled off his jacket and tie. "Ralph? Anything at the library."

"Not much," Ralph said, accompanied by a long sigh. He stretched out on the spare bed, next to where Pam was sitting. "An obituary...about a month after... you know." Ralph pointed up to the ceiling, invoking the space ship.

"May 15th, they find his car," Bill reads from his notes. "May 18th, he's listed in the obituary column."

"Three days, huh?" Pam noted. "They didn't wait long."

"Who writes an obituary when there's no body?" Ralph asked. "Who announces someone is dead when they are supposedly still just missing."

"It's not typical, is it?" Pam joked.

Bill chuckled. "So, every time someone takes off for a week without telling their wives, it looks like the plague's in town...Humph! A perfect correlation of obituaries to Shriner's Conventions...Come on. What else ya got?"

"And a few pieces in the paper about a case or two he was working on..."

"Yeah... yeah..." Bill said knowingly, as he flipped through his notepad. "The Price Landing thingie..."

The two men looked at each other, realizing that they both came up with the same clue. Pam, however, didn't catch the reference.

"Pam, you see McDonald was helping in the investigation of some important cases. Money laundering, pollution, big business corruption... He helped solve some of those cases."

"Yeah, and boy he was in it deep." Bill looked up at Ralph and jumped in.

"He was taking on to many cases..."

Bill shook his head at his partner. "He was pocketing money from the cases..." Bill corrected Ralph. "He had an ever expanding bank account..."

"...that his wife never knew about..." Pam said, also jumping in. "Maybe someone was helping someone set someone up?" Pam speculated.

Ralph looked confused, as he tried to process what the other two were implying. "You think he was somehow banking money from these scandals? That there was some under the table wheeling and dealing? That doesn't make any sense!"

"I know!" Bill added, reading his notes again. "But how else does a country lawyer make fifteen thousand extra big ones? Back in 1968, no less!"

"There's something really strange going on here," Ralph said, uncomfortably. "If this guy, Charles McDonald, was so bad, why would the green guys give him a suit?"

Bill quickly responded, bitterly noting that they gave a suit to Beck, too.

"But the gave Beck a suit before he went bad!" Ralph reasoned. "Charlie got a suit AFTER these scandals, right?"

"Honey, it doesn't look good to old Charlie. He had lots of cash, completely unaccounted for. Witnesses say he also had a girlfriend on the side..."

Bill chuckled at the thought, thinking of the square bowtie and thick rimmed glasses in the FBI file photos. "It was probably some broad he picked up on the side of the road, with all that extra cash..."

Ralph and Pam looked at each other, remembering the text in the big black book.

"The hitchhiker..."

"What about him?" Bill asked.

"No," Pam said, slowly, reviewing Margaret's tale of Charlie's rendezvous. "Not him, Bill. Her. Charlie's partner, the other person in the car with him... she was a woman..."

Bill chuckled harder this time. "What are you talking about, Davidson? Don't be ridiculous..."

"That makes sense, Bill" Ralph added.

"It does?"

"If Margaret ..."

"Who's Margaret?" Bill asked again, uninterested.

"Listen, Bill. We know they saw the ship on April 17th. Then, just a few days later, McDonald is spotted eating lunch with an unknown woman. A stranger in town. There aren't many strangers in a small town like this, Bill! Certainly not back then... You may not know everyone in town, but you'd know if it was a stranger. So, it's gotta be the hitchhiker? And... and..."

Pam tried to remember the whole story. Slowly she pieced it together again. "She was complaining to him. She said that he was trying to walk away. And he couldn't just walk away... They were both involved. Ralph, maybe he wasn't trying to walk away from her? Maybe he was ..."

"Trying to run away..." Ralph finished her sentence, as he looked at Bill. "He wanted to run away from the suit. He was terrified, Bill! He was afraid of the green guys, the whole thing...He couldn't handle it..." He raised a knowing eyebrow towards his partner, a subtle reminder of the night that Bill ran, leaving him alone in the desert with suit.

"They gave him a choice, like they gave us, and he didn't want to take it," Ralph continued. "And McDonald is working on some big cases, blowing the lid off them. The green guys would know this - that he was busting these cases, and that he was a good guy, helping fight for justice! For the common good!"

Unconvinced, Bill tried to dismiss the whole scenario. "There's lots of money at stake. Whoever was involved was probably trying to shut him up. You know ... hush money."

"No..." Ralph said, pacing across the room as he thought. "No, that doesn't make any sense. If you're getting paid off, you aren't going to put that kind of money in a bank account... Certainly not under your own name! And not where the sheriff, the cops, and the IRS are all going to find it!!"

Bill paused, then quickly picked up his pad again, and flipped frantically through the pages. The kid was onto something.

"Someone wanted that money to be found, Bill!" Ralph concluded, stopping dead in his tracks. "Bill, Charlie was being set up! Someone wanted it to look like he was he was corrupt."

"And later on...they try to discredit him by convincing everyone that he was insane! They say he saw aliens, and so people think he is crazy." Pam added, remembering Frances and Margaret's theory that he was murdered."He's murdered, but they say he committed suicide, confirming his instability."

"And four years later," Pam adds, "in 1972, someone calls Fields and tells the story to him for his book. It's a way to confirm that McDonald was going nuts. All of a sudden, you have UFO watchers flocking to Sikeston, Missouri for the alien stories."

"And the whole town is trying to cover up a murder," Ralph said in a Eureka moment. Pam and Ralph stood up, elated over their keen detective skills.

"Noooo, Ralph," Bill responded slowly, as he read over his handwritten notes. "Not the whole town..."

"Of course, not the whole town, Bill! No, just a few guys, maybe who were involved in the scandals. Maybe the sherif." Ralph was still proud of himself for cracking the case.

But Bill looked up at Ralph, disappointed.

"Well, then, there's just one other little problem with this whole scenario, boys and girls..."

Expressions of joy falling from their faces, Pam and Ralph quickly questioned Bill.

"What?"

"The problem is, the story they told Fields wasn't just some crazy schlock. Was it?" Ralph and Pam looked shocked, and embarrassed that they had forgotten the entry in the Big Black Book.

"It all happened... Right kids? Remember? The space ship, the radio, the suit? The sketch of the symbol in the book."

Ralph looked at Pam, worry clearly etched on his face.

"He's right, Pam," Ralph conceded. "You couldn't make all that up and be right. So, Charlie did call Fields!"

"Or..." Bill prompted his troops.

"Or..." Pam continued. "Or the hitchhiker..."

With one finger, Bill made a circular motion, as if directing them to run through the scenario again.

Pam began. "Charlie cracks a few cases..."

"Someone tries to set him up..." Ralph continued.

"He's in and out of town. So one day he picks up a cute cookie off the road..."

"Bill!" Pam disapproved.

"Well... you said it was some broad, right?"

Ralph rolled his eyes, but followed through. "The green guys try to help him out, so he can crack the case, with a little help from some Magic Jammies. But he doesn't accept them..."

All three of them looked at each other, and the room went silent. Each wondered in their own minds what might have happened if Ralph had not accepted the suit.

"A month later he's dead..."

"No Ralph," Bill corrected him. "Maybe he's dead. Or maybe alive. All we know is that a month later, someone's saying he's dead, and wants him gone quickly. And that's all we know..."

"Well, we know that we have one lawyer, unaccounted for..." Ralph added, "and one hitchhiker...unaccounted for."

-continued-


End file.
